


Fairest of Folk

by ViviCatLover



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: A Story But With No Song AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Bond Bullshit, CARBOY, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dadgus AU, Dimension Travel, Fix-It of Sorts, McElroys In Faerun, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Self-Harm, Seven Birds - Freeform, Tarot, The Adventure Zone: Amnesty, The Adventure Zone: Balance, Time Travel, Timeline What Timeline, What Have I Done, amnesty car boy chapter partially inspired by nb teenage terror hollis series, and clueless, and his nails dig into his palm, and well-meaning, arealsword you are one of the real ones i swear, glamour springs, griffin @ barclay: try me bitch, griffin being very irresponsible, i wanna fix that, john @ sazed: do a flip!, me @ the bigfoot liveshow:, moira is the stop and pump and shop ghost and you can't change my mind sorry, my wig? snatched, no beta we die like men, on separate occasions, pop-corn anyone?, same chapter tho, should I have put that in earlier? yes. did I? no, taako bites his hand to ground himself, there's too little of it god damn it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 02:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViviCatLover/pseuds/ViviCatLover
Summary: A fairy (also fata, fay, fey, fae,fair folk; from faery, faerie, "realm of the fays") is a type of mythical being or legendary creature in European folklore (and particularly Celtic, Slavic, German, English, and French folklore), a form of spirit, often described as metaphysical, supernatural, or preternatural.“I have a particular set of skills. Object permanence is not one of them." — Griffin McElroy.





	1. You Gotta Walk Before You Can Run

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Death Finds a Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13698381) by [elgrey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elgrey/pseuds/elgrey). 

> Griffin McElroy goes dimension hopping. What could go wrong?
> 
> This takes place maybe a week after he discovered his ability. Griffin's not blending in very well at all, is he? 
> 
> Griffin can sculpt with his hands or his heart, it doesn't matter much either way. He can jump worlds, or perhaps planes, now. He still has his podcasts. He had his brothers, his father, his family. But… he had an undeniable urge to explore, at least in his free time. He wanted to watch as others made stories, just like his own, and songs, just like his own. Him being able to speak truths into existence (which he called 'retconning') was irrelevant. Being a bond-manipulator had nothing to do with his irresistible urge to observe them. It did not.

Griffin could spend all the time he liked in his home plane, but when he got curious or excited or even bored, he liked to… wander. Step out for a bit. Sponsor a few warlocks, hand out a magic item or fifteen, y'know, the works. He's currently very fond of going with the name Garfield. The looks it gets him _ alone _…

Anyways. Right now, he's somewhere in the massive Neverwinter library, which he can't help but think of as Lucretia's, sitting at a simple, wooden table. 

A tabaxi librarian rolls a cart past, spots him, and waves a hello before moving on. Griffin runs his fingers over the spines of a few nearby books and puffs out a breath. What should he even do, while he’s here? There are so many choices. His finger catches on one book in particular, and he can't help but pull it out and crack it open.

After some time, Griffin shuts the book. He blows out a sigh. The palms of his hands rub into his eyes, and he lets his head hang in his hands. It seems Lucretia's method of spending time in a new world by familiarizing herself with its history isn't quite working. Griffin could always try Merle's, and get some sort of hobby?

Maybe something to put these oh-so _ dexterous _, world-smithing, dice-rolling hands to use?

Ha, and now he's thinking of a hobby _ for _ his hobby. But, back to the point. He needs something... _ mundane _. Ordinary, while still keeping a bit of his customary flair.

Of course, the second thing to come to mind (the first being cooking, but that wasn't exactly _ new _ ) are cards. Not just regular cards. Something with a bit more… _ pizazz _. Something mysterious to an outside observer, but that Griffin himself would know like the back of his hand. 

_ Well, _ Griffin thinks, _ I'll at least try it. _

And he does. Well. Not right away, that'd be nice, but no. He doesn't get much farther than making a basic set of cards, a minimalist set he’d seen in a video. He sets his shoulders, and mutters, “A journey of a thousand stairs begins with a single step, as dad would say. I’ve just gotta take that first step.”

That patient, pragmatic oath lasts exactly five minutes before Griffin throws the cards to the winds, mad at himself for thinking he could do fancy card tricks with ease despite him having no experience with them.

Griffin pops back to his home plane and whips out his phone, researching like a mad-man, watching tutorials, and memorizing as much as he could. The next day is spent the same way, and the one after that, before Griffin slips back into the plane with the Neverwinter Library. Or. He thinks, because there’s a lot of worlds where it’s identical and it’s hard to be certain. He’s only been doing this for a week, after all.

Griffin sits at his(?) table and shuffles the re-conjured cards, ready to begin, with a grin.

Of course, it's all theory, so he _ still _ eventually ends up sitting on the library's floor and piling together the scattered cards by hand. He’s down to the last five when a browned hand does it for him. Griffin looks up, and an older, white-haired woman extends her hand. She helps him up, gives him the cards, and now that he’s on his feet, Griffin recognizes her with ease. Lucretia sees his expression change, giving him a dignified nod and smile, and bypassing him to deeper parts of the, or rather, _ her _library.

Griffin was shaken, putting it lightly. He almost collapsed onto his chair when he managed to move from where he’d frozen, dumbstruck. After a minute, his hands stopped trembling. Five, his breathing evened out, and his heart calmed down. Griffin tried the same trick again. Having learned from his mistake, he kept his hands over the table, as to not allow the cards to scatter when he fumbled.

Once Griffin finally managed to progress to shooting the cards from one hand to another (which he now knew was called a Card Spring Flourish from his research), he decided to spruce them up a bit. He passed a hand over the deck, visualizing what he had in mind, and when he removes it, there’s a new image on the back. A little reminder of home, for himself. Griffin separates out the cards into five decks. One of 22, and four of 14. All the backs are decorated with the BoB sigil, of course, and the latter have four line-art versions of DnD equipment drawn on an inner corner of the front.

Griffin draws out a card, and flips it over. On it, is a simplistic depiction of the twelve planes. The World. Griffin reverses it, and smiles as the image shifts as he’d designed it to. The Hunger’s color-streaked black and endless white eyes stare back at him balefully. Griffin places the card back into the Major Arcana deck and sweeps all the cards together into one pile, straightening them against the table with a clack, before drawing another, the High Priestess, checking over his work. They aren’t finished, lines wonky and colors slightly off, but they’re good enough for him to move on to somewhere else.

Griffin stands up and tucks in his chair, letting his eyes glance across the massive, sprawling stacks one more time for some glance of blue, before he left the aisle with hesitant steps. 

Not long after Griffin sets out, hopefully somewhere in the direction of the exit, the Tabaxi librarian stops him and says, “You’ve been at that particular table every time I’ve seen you around, where are you trying to go?”

Griffin shrugs, and says, “The exit, I guess? This place is so big, I can get turned around.”

Of course, he never knew where the exit was in the first place, having always arrived deep among the stacks whenever he visited this plane.

The Tabaxi librarian smiles and gestures, replying, “You’re going the wrong way. You need to go…”

After getting some admittedly very concise directions, Griffin manages to exit Neverwinter library about ten minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a multi-chaptered work. The one thing they all will have in common is there are The Adventure Zone characters, and Griffin going to be in every single one. Even if it's just as a cameo. He's going to adopt different names in different chapters, fair warning. I update Mondays/Tuesdays weekly.


	2. A Matter Of Relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ever since Angus first stepped foot on the moon base with his dad, Angus knew he had to map it. And while Angus could just ask the Director and get a copy like anyone else, that wasn't the point. Angus would rather do this by hand, given most of the B.O.B. staff still thought of him as nothing more than a nosy, particularly smart kid. It’s stifling, and mapping the base gives him something to do instead of being restless. His dad always looked interested when Angus mentioned it, so Angus sometimes talks to his dad about what he's found, usually in the privacy of their family dorm with the map itself clipped onto something nearby so he can point to things on it. Like right now.
> 
> "Dad, today I found this absolutely gigantic mess of pipes and swings and obstacle courses, I asked Carey and she said it’s an aerial gym, so I thought-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Griffin: hm. what's a good name for being undercover  
Griffin:  
Griffin: Andrew, of course! A nice little reference to a godlike being, while being pretty common!
> 
> Griffin, later, sweating: he's gonna figure me out. he's got that detective arithmetic. oh no. i gotta play it cool- OH SHIT HERE HE COMES-
> 
> Anyways, this is inspired by, and nestled into, the Dadgus series, by I_Otaku! I hope you enjoy.

Angus felt safe enough to let his feet move on their own as he noted down where he currently was, quite deep into the guts of the B.O.B campus. When Angus looked up, he’d wandered over to another small half-sphere, just like the dozens before it. Angus notes it down dutifully, after looking to the previous one for a reference, and examines it further. Angus steps sideways, left hand bumping into the metal in the process, and it _ rippled _ under his fingers. Angus snatched away his hand, backing up a few feet, watching the sphere warily. Angus didn't need to be the World's Greatest Detective to know that this building wasn't normal _ at all _ in comparison to its predecessors.

The ripple kept going as he watched, until an arch was outlined in the white metal before, all at once, it became opaque. Angus crept closer, and then tried to press his hand to it, leaning his weight on it. Angus fell through, instead. Cold mist prickled across his skin, and despite his alarm, Angus was fairly sure it was anything but malicious. To himself, at least. Angus’ knees hit warm carpet and his glasses, jarred by the impact, tumbled off his face. Angus searched, on his knees, and found the spectacles in short order. He sat back, and pulled on his glasses, blinking. As his vision readjusted, Angus looked up and around at wherever he'd stumbled into. And the detective arithmetic swirling around his head kicked into overdrive.

His first impression was something along the lines of _ warm _. Furnished comfortably, the centerpiece of the room, a table, was covered with a sheet of soft red fabric and with a comfortable chair pulled up. The second thing that drew his eye, after the room itself, was the man inside it. His hands held a deck of cards, which he shuffled speedily. His eyes hadn’t even looked up when Angus came in, fully focused on his task. 

Magnus had raised Angus to be polite. So, he stood up, folded his arms behind his back, and stuck himself by the entrance to the space, as much as he itched to examine it more closely. Several minutes went by and Angus had just finished determining that the room itself and the things within were likely conjured, when the man drew his attention again, this time, purposefully. The cards were straightened with a muted click against the table, and the shuffler looked up at Angus. He fanned the cards onto the table, faces down, and beckoned Angus forwards. He also seemed… excited? For some reason unknown to Angus.

"My name's Andrew. Care for a reading?"

Angus hesitated, and pulled a nearby chair closer, grip shifting on the back, before he finally sat.

“Just pick five cards, please, Angus.” Andrew added the last word like an afterthought.

Angus doesn’t ever recall introducing himself to this man, or even seeing him around the Bureau of Balance campus, so there's no readily available reason as to why this man already knows him. Angus _ really _ wants to know what happens next, though, so, however reluctant, Angus draws the requested number of cards.

Andrew brushes the rest of the cards to the side, plucking away the cards Angus picked, and laid them down in a spread. The first, is decorated with Davenport, in a red uniform, his face covered with static. Second, a pair of women, hand in hand. Third, is a quiet-looking overlook of Faerun from above. Fourth, the endless shelves of Fantasy Cosco. Fifth, depicts a pair of battlewagons, one driver, with a ram mask, and the other, with a sleek, black raven one.

Andrew looked up, the muscles around his eyes tighter than they’d been since Angus walked in. “The High Priest, Ten of cups, Justice, The Tower, and The Chariot.”

Angus raised a brow. He’s got a feeling there’s a bit more to this than just a simple tarot card reading.

“You need to protect someone close to you. Stay positive, and rely on your own judgement. One of Fantasy Cosco’s items will help you with this, and above all else, you will get through what happens. Even if you think you won't, you still will.”

Angus, intrigued by this psuedo-prophecy, shifted a little in his seat. And dug deep into his pocket for some coin, to Andrew’s fervent protest. “What are-Oh god _ no _ , Angus I can’t take your money. I’m not some _ hustler_.”

“But, sir, isn’t doing divination magic kinda draining? My dad once told me to always show appreciation if people do something for me, and his advice is usually good in practice.” 

“I’ve cast a lot of spells in my time and, uh, _ that _ sort of thing is barely a drop of magic compared to some of the other stuff I’ve had to cast on the fly.”

Angus finally dumps a handful of currency onto the red cloth, catching a golden disk as it tried to roll away, and pushed the whole thing towards the fortune teller.

“But, you _ purposefully _ came here for me,” Andrew opened his mouth, “And don’t even try to deny it, you _ did _ . There’s nothing that you’d get from this, other than a favor. That means something’s going to happen that’s important to you, or to Lady Istus, and most definitely to me. So, I’m not going to just _ overlook _ that. After all, a stitch in time saves nine, and you most certainly saved me some trouble, by giving me this information.”

“If you want to pay me back,” Andrew said, shoving the pile of metal coins back over the table, “Just don’t tell Magnus or Taako or Merle about me. I’d prefer if you kept my existence to yourself, to be honest, but that’s unlikely. Anyone other than them are fine to tell, as long as you trust them. Being looked into by the Bureau’s Reclaimers is a catastrophe in the making, for any diviner.”

“Sure, but why Dad and sirs specifically?” Angus asked.

Andrew spluttered a little and blurted, “They’re _ protective people _ , ** _obviously_ **.”

Angus watched Andrew’s eyes widen. It was clear that’d come out more than blunt than he was intending it to be. Angus didn’t mind, though, not really, since he was more preoccupied with the warm feeling in his chest. His brain, however, kept producing its _serious_ _detective_ arithmetic, as it had been since Andrew had given him the interpretation of his (and, presumably, his family’s) future. Five cards, and they represented how his life would transform sometime in the near future, probably not for the better, and what he'd need to get through it. Five cards, and they could mean everything.

Angus zoned out, fixedly staring down the cards, until Andrew sighed. Angus, startled out of his train of thought, looked up to see Andrew rubbing his nose between two fingers. 

Andrew said, “You’d better be going. You’ve probably burned those cards into the surface of your brain, plus if you’re gone for too long, certain parties will probably end up running themselves off the base with worry.”

Angus, startled, let out a half-snort, half-laugh, and clapped his hands over his traitorous mouth, mortified. Andrew just gave him a pleased smile and wave at the door. Angus got up, carefully not drawing attention to the coins, and made for the door at a decent speed.

“Hey-!” Angus heard Andrew scrambling up from the table, and Andrew's hand clasped his shoulder, gentle, but firm enough to stop him a step before the entrance. Andrew dumped the coins back into Angus’ hands and wagged a finger chastistingly.

“You nearly pulled one over on me, but know this! I am the master of misdirection! Now, get going, seriously!” Andrew gently shoved Angus out the door, hands too occupied with gold pieces to try and stop him. Angus stumbled, nearly dropping the coins, and spun on his heel, “Wait, sir-” and stopped talking mid-sentence. To Angus’ mild indignation, Andrew was the one who ended up getting the last word. After all, you can’t argue with empty air, and the building had, infuriatingly, went with him. And so had any proof that the encounter happened.

Angus stood there for another five minutes, walking through the empty space and looking for anything left behind. The only thing he found was a circle of cleared dust, until he finally got down on his knees, rolled up his sleeves, and felt along the edge of the circle. There, almost invisible, was a line. A groove, carved flawlessly into the metal, less than ten millimeters wide. Supposedly where the sphere had been anchored. The next thing he did was leave. Or, to be more specific, he left to investigate. 

* * *

The first person he asked was Killian. Angus flagged her down just as she was leaving the Chug ‘n’ Squeeze with Carey. “Killian, Killian, I need to,” Angus panted for a couple seconds, sucking in mouthfuls of air, “I need to ask you about something.”

Angus wheezed a little after trying to keep up with the tall orc woman, and Killian chuckled. “Sure, kid, we’re not in a hurry.” 

“Have you,” Angus puffed. “Seen a man, with. Brown hair? And a tarot deck? Around?”

Killian nearly shrugged, but didn’t complete the motion, her expression complicated. “Whoever it is sounds familiar, but not recently at the very least. Probably in passing, y’know. I don’t know everyone, Angus.”

Angus sighed, shoulders slumped, but when Killian’s datemate cleared his throat, he looked up.

“Actually…” Carey began haltingly, “I might have an idea of who you’re talking about. A while ago, before _ this _, y’know?”

Angus, who did indeed know, nodded slowly. He wrote something his note-pad blindly, his eyes fixed on Carey instead. Had Killian glanced at it, she would have seen a disastrous mess, practically conspiracy-theorist esq. She was far more preoccupied with the look on Carey’s face as she stared sightlessly at thin air, turned away from Angus.

“It was a while ago, as I said, but the thing that made him stick out to me at the time, I can’t really describe. He felt...familiar, as Killian said. Like I’d seen him tons of times in passing. But. The thing is, I knew that I hadn’t. He stuck out like a sore thumb. A soft-looking human, back then? Far from common, to say the least,” Carey laughed softly, “But I didn’t pay much of anything mind, back then. I tried to pickpocket him, of course. He seemed a good mark, at the time. I’ve always been too curious for my own good. He wasn’t a dick about it, even seemed to be a good person, at that. Helped me out, gave me a reading, some coin, and sent me on my way. I couldn’t leave well enough alone, though, little salamander that I was. I spent more than a year, following him around, until I started pushing off going to check him out again. In hindsight, I probably got bored. Every time it came up, I’d tell myself, I’ll go see what he’s up to, soon, just not right this second. Tomorrow.” Carey’s tone, as she spoke, became melancholy, and her laugh, bitter.

“‘Tomorrow’ became next week, next month, until one day, I just. Forgot about him. I’d still see him sometimes, before that, but after? He just. Vanished. I went back, after, well,” Carey waved at the moon base around them, “All this. To visit him. Ask him a few things, about how he knew what he did, and why. He was long gone, to where, I’ve no idea. Unfortunately, no one had bothered to remember anything about some random human fortuneteller. They had better things to do. I’m not surprised he moved on, after I forgot him. Surprised he stayed as long as he did, to be honest.”

Carey finally turned to look at Angus, and something behind her eyes was fragile. Broken. An expression Angus, saw unfortunately often, especially _ here _, in the Bureau of Balance. The memories Carey was describing, were ones that had been restored by the Voidfish. 

Carey’s next inhale stuttered. She made a choked noise, wiping moisture away with a harsh hand. Killian slipped a hand around her trembling shoulders. “But, either way, he. He’s gone now. So,” Carey’s shoulders squared, her back straightening, “Now that you’ve heard all about _ my _ tragic backstory. How’d _ you _ meet him, and why’re you asking around about him?”

“I,” Angus paused, swallowing thickly. “I didn’t think anyone would have _ actually _ known him for a long period of time but. He just. Showed up. Gave me a reading after I stumbled in on him shuffling cards, refused payment, and left.”

Carey smiled ruefully. “He does that, yeah.” 

“Do you have anything about him that you think will help?” Angus asks delicately. 

Carey’s face, reluctantly, held back a smile. “He likes puns. He usually has a good reason for what he does. He’s almost… skittish, from what I remember of him. Less like he wants to be in control of a situation, and more that he wants you to decide how things will go. He’s usually got his own agenda when it comes to actually interacting with him, but he usually just nudges you in a certain direction that you would have taken anyways. Especially if he can confuse you to the Astral Plane and back in the process.” 

Angus noted it down, though he kinda doubted it’d help him much, beyond interactions with Andrew. 

“Anything else?” Angus asked, glancing back up from a new pad of paper. 

“Nah,” Carey said, rolling her shoulders. “But if you see him, let me know, okay? I miss that cryptic bastard.”

* * *

At the end of the day, Angus fell into bed, without a single clue as to where Andrew had gone, or who he was, other than Carey’s account. After a second or two for his groggy mind to register what was wrong, Angus leapt out of bed like a scalded cat. He could feel something in his back pocket, digging into his lower back. Angus got it out, and between his fingers, was a miraculously unharmed card. One side was splashed with stars and the B.O.B. sigil, and the other had some words for Angus from the man himself. 

To Angus Burnsides, formerly McDonald,

You’re a clever one, aren’t you? I know you get told that all the time, but you’re genuinely brilliant, in more than the way of deductive reasoning. Certain famous detectives would be proud. Carey was a good kid, as far as I could tell, just in a desperate enough situation for her to use her mad rogue skills to survive. I know I had little to to effect on her development, obviously, but, between you and me, I’m proud as hell of her. 

With well-wishes,

Andrew ‘Your Best Friend’ McElroy

P.S. Tell Carey that I’ll be dropping by again, sometime soon.

Angus flicked it back over to the front after memorizing it, drinking it in. He flipped it back over. The card had changed. It now showed himself, eyes closed, wand held loosely in his right hand. Across the bottom, were the words “Page of Wands”. Presumably, Angus’ tarot card in Andrew’s deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carey came out of nowhere and took over the chapter, imma be honest.  
Thanks for reading! Leave a kudo and a comment if you liked it, comments are amazing and give me hella motivation.
> 
> Sneak peak of a future chapter ;)
> 
> John, who just got his legs back:  
eXcUsE mE, wHaT tHe FuCk?!


	3. It's Not Rocket Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> griffin, to himself: okay so 1, this is a bad idea, and 2, this is gonna be hilarious.  
griffin, cracking his knuckles: okay time to do some complicated bond bullshit.  
griffin:  
griffin: istus help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, reading y'all's comments: my heart's exploding 'cuz it's full of rainbows,,,,,  
seriously though THANK Y'ALL THEY MAKE MY DAY EVEN IF I CAN'T GET AROUND TO REPLYING I STILL READ THEM.  
Please keep commenting!! I love it. also; poor john.

John soaked in the quiet of a peaceful peaceful moment, his form relaxed and loose. His fingers intertwined with Merle's. On his next exhale, he drifted off, carried by the smallest of breezes.

What feels like both a second and an age later, he wakes up, one sense at a time.

The first thing he hears before he can even feel his body, is another person.

"God, I wish there was a better way to do this," A masculine voice muttered, and John could hear the grind of sand on the front of his suit jacket. John cracked crusty eyes open, beheld the grainy surface under him. More relevantly, it was uncanny, how much the shadowed sand resembled a beach he distinctly remembered spending his last moments on, what feels like an age ago. 

"Ung." John grunted, squinting his eyes shut against the watery blaze of light scorching his retinas.

Leveraging his elbows under himself, John tried to push his body upright, and lost his balance immediately. Not terribly unexpected, for someone void of a lower half. John instead tumbled onto his back, damp sand working into his suit’s much finer materials even more than it already had. 

God damn it. John thought. That’s going to be an absolute _bitch_. He wasn't sure if he was referring to deep-cleaning his suit or the current absence of _his_ _legs_ oh god-

The backs of John’s eyelids dimmed. John cracked his eyes open, cautious of the sudden reprieve from the sun’s onslaught. A blurred figure was leaning over John. His arms and shoulders were caught in a firm, gentle grip. The voice told him, "John, as good of a sign as it is that you're awake right now, you need to stay  _ still _ ."

Predictably, John did not react well to being restrained, as well-meaning as the blur’s words seemed. John knew better than to trust people at their word, especially without a Zone of Truth active. As weak as he felt, John tried to put up even the slightest illusion of resistance. His body writhed, forehead thumping against his attacker's shoulder, before falling still. John cursed his body’s exhaustion, as much of a welcome novelty it was to  _ actually _ be  _ experiencing _ it for what seemed like the very first time. 

John blinked several times in quick succession, grimacing as his vision cleared slowly. John was arranged in a comfortable position by whoever the blur was, and they helpfully scraped some of the wet sand off his suit. John’s head was propped up, and he could see his lower body, nearly unrecognizable as his eyes tried to clean themselves of irritants. Eventually, John began to make out wisps, practically see through, joining with themselves into threads, like you would see on a loom. A thickened white string stitched itself along the edges, trapping the barely-contained chaos into an actual shape. As he watched, the wisps that were in contact with it gradually grew darker, growing textures maybe thrice that of a snail's pace. John thought could probably assume these ‘wisps’ were what he became, after his form unraveled. They were also likely what was being used to restore him from his previous state of nonexistence, John thought, as the shape of his legs became more distinct by the second, having filled the empty spaces that had been there just a few minutes earlier. 

John would have dismissed it all as a hallucination of his dying mind, blindly approximating what a human body would have felt, but for  _ just _ a  _ few _ things that didn’t add up. And not in the “this place isn’t real” way. In the “I’ve been brought back from the dead” way.

John had felt the man's hands stabilize him as he fell. That meant the man was solid. Hallucinations could not be this detailed. And therein, was the problem. On one hand, he's supposed to be gone, as dead if not more so than the rest of the Hunger after their bonds were broken. On the other, he could feel things. Physical things. The inevitable conclusion bloomed in his mind like nightshade flowers, so very pretty, and so very deadly, if not handled carefully. John, at the very  _ least _ , was back on the same Prime Material Plane that Merle now called home. 

John raised a sand-crusted hand to his face, and stared at it, turning it back and forth in horrified fascination.

" _ We-e-ll _ ,  _ thank _ you for waiting until I finished off your spine before you woke up. I still wouldn’t have recommended pulling something like  _ that _ until I was done pulling you together, though." The blur said bluntly, and that now his vision had cleared enough, John surmises that he’s a human, like he used to be. Or. Would it be “like he is”? Resurrection magic was  _ finicky _ when it came to details, he’d learned that much from talking to Merle.

Just thinking about him, alone on that last beach, makes John’s chest hurt. Desperate to distract himself from thinking of the dwarf, John returned his gaze to his hand, flicking to his forming legs, and back to his hand again. When he looked closely, it  _ trembled _ . It hasn't done that, or hasn't been _ allowed _ to do that, since before he and his plane became the Hunger.

"What…?" John murmurs, staring at the limb like he hadn't seen it in years. Which, as far as he knew, might actually be the case. "The actual fuck…?"

A century and change ago John would have been much less uncouth, but, well, Merle had rubbed off on him.

"Sorry." The man said apologetically. "It would have been faster if I had more than Merle’s bond to work from, plus you would have been more… present, I'd say is the word? If you’ve noticed that yet, I mean. This all probably pretty overwhelming."

The man tapped a finger on his knuckles, hands laced together. When that didn’t settle him, the man ran his fingers through his hair, tugging on it with visible frustration. “Y’know how bonds are usually invisible, intangible, all that? I don’t know what you are, now, but whatever it is, you’re  _ made _ of bonds now. You’re vulnerable, especially to those of the Celestial Plane and their emissaries. However, you’re my responsibility, so I’ve got seniority.” 

John’s eyebrows steadily climbed through the entire spiel, eyes holding a dozen questions, but his reviver (?) doesn’t notice as he practically crashes through a rambling explanation. 

“Not that I wouldn’t have anyways, you being what you were, but that’s beside the point. The only person other than me that knows you even exist is Istus, and she’s already so fucking on board. I'd have had to shank her in a back alley otherwise. No one will know you’re there unless you want them to, I made sure of it. Call me Griffin, by the way. Undead folks’ eyes won’t even register you, since there’s almost nothing there for them to see. Same goes for any Astral Plane bounty hunters. Don’t worry about that nonexistence going both ways, though,” ‘Griffin’ adds the last bit on after a small pause for John to process. 

“Since you’re anchored with a bond, well. Everything has a bond, and you can manipulate them. Nothing big!” Griffin waves his hands, “You’re not going to be resurrecting people or tearing apart buildings, not anytime soon. Enough so that you’ve basically got telekinesis when it comes to objects and sentients. Plants are… gonna be awkward but the bond’s from Merle, that’s more than expected. By the way, did I mention we’re like, eight years in the past?”

John just stares. This is... so much more than he expected. He didn’t expect to still be  _ alive _ after the Hunger’s defeat, much less being able to- wait. “What do you  _ mean _ ,” John says incredulously, “We’re eight years in the past?”

“Ahhh,” Griffin hissed through his teeth. “Well...things worked out for the most part, yeah, but. They could have been better. A lot better. That’s...kinda why I’m here, actually.”

After a beat of silence, John raised his eyebrow and stared. 

“Okay, fine!” Griffin threw up his arms. “We’re in the final cycle, basically no one remembers shit or will until something to change that, I’ll tell you about it, happens in twelve years. Everyone other than Merle, and even him to an extent, have bad shit happen to them. I wanna change that. And  _ you _ ,” Griffin jabbed a finger into John’s chest, “Are going to help me do it. It’s the least you could do, and I’m a hella busy person, so I don’t have  _ time _ , and you’re the best person to do it  _ anyway _ , and-”

John cut him off with a hand, and cleared his throat. “I’d do it, even if you’d only brought me back after what I did as the Hunger. Helping Merle and his...crew just gives me more incentive.”

“Oh  _ thank fuck _ .” Griffin blurted out. 

* * *

John's less than pleased with current events, to say the least. Underneath him, there's a choking noise, and he tightens his grip. 

He's far more interested in the vial clutched in the man's left hand. The label reads simply, "Arsenic."

John removes a hand from Sazed's neck and wraps it around his wrist, constricting until the half elf is forced to let go. The vial rolls, and falls off the table. There's approaching footsteps from behind John, and he turns to look. Taako crouches, and scoops it up, pinching the glass neck. He reads it, and his murderous gaze to the piece of slime trapped on the table, eyes going through John's body.

"Sazed," Taako says, voice raw. "What the fuck have you  _ done _ ?"

Sazed wheezes, and bursts out, "What have I done? What have  _ you _ done?! Everything was perfect, and then you fucking decided to hand out the food-"

Sazed chokes, and Taako zeroes in John's hands locked around his would-be assassin's airway.

"Hm." 

Taako walks, eyes cold, to Sazed's side. His fingers touch Sazed's pulse point, and his gaze flickers over the marks slowly pressing deeper into his skin. He pokes at them, his finger passing through John’s hand and its gloves of bonded air. Taako’s shoulders shudder, slight enough that had John not been right next to Taako, he doubts he would have spotted the movement. 

"Any idea what's got you dead to rights?" Taako asks rhetorically, and John twists Sazed's head sideways, threatening to bash it into the table. Sazed's eyes flicker frantically before locking on Taako’s face. "Or who? 'Cuz it seems pissed the fuck off, not that I blame it, but I'd rather you got the fuck out."

John steps back from the table and brings his arm up, directing Sazed’s collar of air with it. He flicks his wrist, releases, and throws Sazed out the back and into hard dirt.

"Thanks," Taako says to empty air, and he crosses the room to the wagon doors, Sazed too shocked to even begin to attempt retaliation. The wood rocks in its frame, fists beating against it, and Taako bolts. Throwing himself into the driver's seat, Taako snatches the reins, and gets the fuck out of the situation at speed, leaving Sazed to his fate. John tweaks a bond, gluing his feet to the kitchenette’s floor so he doesn’t get left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, Istus taught griffin how to weave bonds bc this boy is still not very experienced in doing things by hand when he could speak it into existence. but speaking things into existence is for general things. it's like saying "hey can I get an apple". You could get any heccin kind of apple. Like a djinn, a bit.  
istus thinks this is fuckin hysterical  
glamour springs was a last-minute addition tbh  
Do you guys wanna keep seeing balance, or get a bit of amnesty thrown in? amnesty doesn't have a lot written for it, so longer balance chapter, or a shorter amnesty?  
how i described this chapter to a friend:  
griffin: hey i'm gonna use you as a cats-paw to change the past n shit  
john: ok  
john, internally: what about merle? and other people who might try to kill me I guess  
griffin: haha so you're more or less a poltergeist now, no one remembers shit, no one can see u or know about u unless u consent to it, gotta go bye  
john: ExCusE mE, wHaT tHe FuCk?!


	4. Exit: Pursued By Bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three incidents from Taako's (and Griffin's) perspectives.

Sometimes, Taako wanted to tear out his brain and ask it a question or fifteen. Why, when he spent too long looking in the mirror, the reflection's face would fizz into static. Why his tongue insisted that he had once known any flavor for drinks other than key lime gogurt. And, above all, why his first reflex for food was still to transfigure it.

But that wasn't what Taako was thinking about, right now. Taako wasn't thinking much of anything, after his knees had buckled in some backwater tavern. These usually felt like someone had cast Reduce on him. The close look Taako was getting at the dirty floor only compounded that feeling. His head felt like it was about to pop. Taako released his iron grip on his lungs, choking down air instead of him holding his breath until he passed out.

A shadow covered Taako, and a finger tapped gently on the side of one of his fisted hands. Taako's ears were still full of static, but when it cleared, a voice came through. "What's five plus five?"

Thrown off, Taako automatically replied, "Ten."

"Twenty times five?"

"One hundred."

“Fifty divided by five?”

“Ten.”

As the math problems grew more complex, Taako started to pull himself together, and  _ huh _ . Taako idly wondered if he'd actually cast Reduce on himself. The person who was deadass quizzing him on his multiplication tables was taller than Taako, sans his hat. And he looked  _ soft _ . The dude had some muscles, of course, but there was a definite baby face thing going on there. 

His hands felt hot, and a little slippery.

“Ah-” The man hisses in sympathy, and he rocks back on his heels. Taako sits up, now that he’s got more space, and watches as he rummages through his pockets comes up with a roll of gauze. 

“My name’s Griffin, sorry I didn’t introduce myself earlier, but you looked like you wouldn’t hear me anyway. So.”

After that somewhat awkward introduction, Griffin held out a hand, and Taako took it. Griffin hauled Taako to his feet and once he lets go, Taako’s hands hurt. A lot. Taako brings them up to his face, inspecting bloody crescents gouged into his hands. When he lowers them, Griffin’s already rolled out a bit of the white bandages and is holding out his other hand for permission. Taako hesitates. And. Puts his hand into Griffin’s.

Griffin’s touch is delicate as he wraps up Taako’s palms, where he had dug his nails in during his. Episode.

When Griffin finishes, Taako flexes his hands, wincing.

Griffin tells him, “They’ll heal up fine, as long as they’re kept clean and you change the wrappings; the marks after that will fade in a month at most.”

Taako scoffed. “What are you, a cleric? I’m an  _ adventurer,  _ bubbleh. I’d have had to have a limb cut off by now if I didn’t know how to deal with wounds.”

“I,” Griffin pauses. “I suppose so. You’re good to go, then?”

“Yeah.” Taako readjusted his robe, and picked up his hat from where it had been crumpled, after being discarded in his panic. 

* * *

  
  


"Do you… have anyone to call?" Griffin says numbly, watching Taako gather his things. 

Internally, he's hoping for someone in particular,  _ Kravitz Kravitz Kravitz Kravitz- _

Taako's face darkens for a split second, before smoothing out, and he replies, semi-sarcastically, "Nah, broski. I'm solo, if you could believe it. I mean, who wouldn't feel blessed, traveling with cha boi?"

Taako spins on his heel, one leg going out, drawing attention to his glittery, slapdash outfit instead of the person it was on.

Griffin chuckles. “Yeah. Honestly, you look fabulous. Excellent color coordination.”

Taako squinted at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not. Either way,  _ thamks.” _

Griffin held his hands up, chuckles still spilling from his lips. “I would  _ never _ .”

“Well.” Taako sniffs. “At least you have  _ some  _ modicum of taste, unlike  _ most  _ of the people I spend time with.”

Griffin throws his head back in a full-blown  _ cackle. _

  
  


* * *

Taako’s on the bottom bunk. He can see Magnus shifting above him in sleep. Taako's breathing is quick, and shallow. Taako's teeth sink into the meat of his hands. Taako is having a panic attack.

Was he cursed by some fuck at his birth to have tragedy follow him wherever he goes? Or was his life just a collection of fucked-up coincidences? So many people had lived in Phandalin. So many people were  _ dead _ , now. Taako was struggling just to not start screaming because of the body count alone.

It’s like Glamour Springs all over again, but  _ worse _ , because instead of just thirty or so people affected, at least a thousand had died. Because of  _ their _ fuck up. And that was only a fraction of the city's inhabitants, rather than people who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Taako snarls through his teeth, copper painting his tongue.

He did not wake up from the nightmare he found himself in.

Nothing felt  _ real _ .

Furious with himself, Taako jerked his teeth out of bleeding bite marks and stumbled out of bed.

Hurting himself wouldn't fix things, the opposite, most likely.

He needed to be in the best condition he could, right now. Whether that would be needed in the case of him running for his life, fighting for it, or something else, he didn't have a clue.

Taako swallowed until the metal taste sticking to his tongue waned. The faint  _ plink _ of drops of crimson running down his fingers to splatter on the floor stopped, hand wrapped in strips of white cloth. 

Taako’s breath stuttered out on his next exhale. He tied a knot, securing the bandage in place, and fell back into bed. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes, and he swallowed convulsively. He sniffed, and curled onto his side, injured hand side up, against the wall. He pulled up his covers, and pulled down his pillow. He set about making a nest, until he was curled around the cold pillow and the blanket was pooled around his hunched shoulders.

Finally, Taako felt concealed enough that he could have a good cry about the absolute insanity of what had happened.

* * *

  
  


"You, you shouldn't have to deal with this," Taako choked out, sounding strangled even as Kravitz gave him his full attention. “You have more important things to do, just because Lup’s on a mission right now doesn’t mean you have to-”

“Babe. It’s not because I have to,” Kravitz took Taako’s trembling hands in his. “It’s because I  _ want _ to. I’ve dealt with panic attacks before. Now, what’s fifteen times eight?”

Taako, after a stunned moment of bug-eyed disbelief, bursts into choked, hysterical laughter.

He answers, through his tears, “One hundred and twenty.” 

Kravitz asked, “What set it off?”

“The mirror. My face.” Taako's head drops against his knees, and his voice is  _ agony _ . "Fucking-  _ Wonderland _ ."

When he manages to stop wheezing little punched-out breaths, Taako tells Krav, "Thanks, honeybunch. The first time I actually got pulled out of one of those, it was some human broski named Griffin in the back of a backwater tavern I don't even remember the name of. He just. Knew what to do. And I. Didn't. It'd been. Only a few months, at the time. You pulled me out the same exact way he did. Just. Funny, I guess."

Kravitz reaches out, and Taako  _ flinches _ . Kravitz pauses. 

“Taako, is it okay if I touch you?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah.” Taako croaks.

Kravitz shifts, transitioning to a kneeling position on the floor, and gently presses his fingertips into Taako’s shoulders, rubbing in calming circles. Taako leans into it, his body untensing in small degrees in just the first few seconds Kravitz has been touching him for. Kravitz was worried about his boyfriend, but below that, he felt happy,  _ touched _ , even, that Taako trusted him enough to allow him to do this. To allow Kravitz to see Taako like this, vulnerable, when he  _ knew _ Taako hated it, hated even the  _ suggestion _ of not being capable, with a burning passion.

Kravitz moved his arm, making sure that it was within Taako’s line of sight, and slowly wrapped an elbow around Taako’s waist, tugging him closer. Taako turned towards him, and his cheeks were  _ wet _ . Taako nearly knocked Kravitz to the floor as he lunged, clinging like a spider monkey with all four limbs. Taako buries his face into Kravitz’s clavicle and he could feel Taako’s body  _ shudder _ , trembling as Taako clung to him with all the strength he had. He can feel his shirt dampening against his skin under where Taako’s face is, and Kravitz wraps his arms lightly around his hunched lover, hiding him from the world, so that Taako can finally,  _ finally _ , break down without fear of being seen.

At some point, Taako says into his skin, “Thank you for always being here, bubbleh. If you’d told me five years ago about what I had now, I’d have hexed the fuck out of you for being a jerk.”

Kravitz chuckled, and said, “You saved me too, remember? We’re even.”

“...My legs are sore. Carry me to bed?”

“Of course, babe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor taako. I hope I wrote him alright. glamour springs gave him some serious trauma. thank y'all for the compliments. the chapter's called "Exit: Pursued by Bear" because taako feels like nothing he's doing actually matters and he's just following a script, like he's in a play. F in the chat for taako  
anyways I've got a sequel to A Matter Of Relations in progress of being written. 
> 
> Sneak peak:  
Rule #234: No fabric paints or dye on the moon, everything's white and stains like hell, you'd think this was common sense...


	5. Booster Juice & Bullshit Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stepping into Kirby's role in the Cryptomonica had almost been frighteningly easy for Griffin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting into the swing of things, now.
> 
> lmao y'all already know what's gonna happen  
car boy, the beast, the rebel, and the car stealing bastard all appear dw
> 
> thank arealsword for me doing some amnesty, they fuckin ROCK  
I've been sick, so that's why I'm late

"When I went to the DMV last week to get my ID," Griffin says dryly to a teenaged Hollis, "They gave me this."

Griffin tosses a card onto the Cryptonomica front desk. Hollis peers at it, and snorts. 

"Nice." Hollis says, passing The Fool back.

Griffin swipes it and stuffs it back into his pocket. 

“Hey, be careful with those,” Hollis protests. “They’ll get ruined.”

“Just like my free time lately.” Griffin jokes.

“Eyyyyy,” Hollis says, whipping out a pair of finger guns.

“Eyyyyyy.” Griffin echoes gleefully, mirroring them.

The sound of muffled footsteps echoes from Ned’s office, along with the grinding of hinges. Before the door opens more than a few inches, Hollis skittered out of the Cryptonomica’s lobby and nearly out the doors. Their leather blazer passes out of sight, and Ned steps fully out of his office.

Ned eyes the shop’s entrance, and sighs. 

“Okay,” Ned flops down on a nearby chair. “Spill.”

“Whatever could you mean, Ned?” Griffin replies. “You know me, I’d love for the Cryptonomica to be left on her lonesome other than what’s necessary for her.”

“_And_ _I_ _do_ _know you_, that’s the problem. You’d face God and moonwalk into Hell just because you thought it’d be funny.”

Griffin snorted, and Ned snapped his fingers, pointing at him. “You just proved my point, Kirby! Going back to the main subject, what tomfoolery have you concocted this time?”

“Hey! It happened without a smidge of influence from me, I’ll have you know!”

Ned was like a dog with a bone, despite Griffin’s attempts at drawing him into a round of well-natured ribbing. "There was tiny, feral child in my very-much-legal establishment, Kirby. _ Why _ was there a child in my very-much-legal establishment?"

"Because _ they _don't have a building of dubious legality to do any teenaged existential crisis bullshit in yet," 

Ned gasps dramatically. "That sort of language is for the _ Chicanery _!"

"And the Cryptonomica is the next best thing. Plus, they’re confident you're no snitch."

Ned's nose wrinkled. “Well… If they’re gonna think something of me, that’s one of the better options.”

Ned grins good-naturedly.

"And. They ain’t exactly _ wrong _ in their assessment. But, Kirby," Ned waved a hand towards the Crytponomica in general. "Can't they do those types of things somewhere _ else _? This is far from a good place for kids to be hanging around. At least, according to everyone else in Kepler.”

“But _ Neeed _ , that was the point of me letting Hollis in _ in the first place _,” Griffin says, playing up the whine in his voice.

“I’m not gonna ask how you know that kid’s name, and instead focus on the other shit, so: Kirby, explain.”

“_ Good publicity _.”

“Good pub- huh. You think-”

“Yep.”

“_ Huh _.”

After a second, Ned chuckles. “Well, Kirb, I certainly hope you know what you’re doing.”

* * *

Griffin clapped once, and time froze. If anyone on this layer of reality could have perceive him, they'd have seen a silhouette of golden light that shifted wildly like a disco ball. There was zero chance of him being recognized as his other identity at the Cryptonomica. Just how he liked it.

Golden light illuminated the ground, stained black with blood. On all sides, animals were frozen in macabre shapes, caught mid-seizure. The silence made it even more eerie.

Griffin turned his gaze to the creature in the middle of it all. Looked, at the creature in front of him, with unreserved disgust. When Griffin had first described it, he'd imagined it would be extremely gruesome, but his mental image hadn't even come close. Still dripping with fluids, having been practically spat from the gate, it was adorned with animals so fresh they were still twitching. When combined with the scene surrounding it, that had originated from it, the bear was _worse_ than horrific. Literally blood-curdling, actually.

Griffin pinched his nose shut, breathing through the stench, so thick he could still smell it in his pocket of time. Griffin stared the thing down, and he knew it wasn't a thing, fuck, but it sure felt like one to him. It was nothing at all like the otherworldly awe he usually envisioned when he described the four-armed figures. Those were something he'd liked making a hell of a lot. He could only hope they didn’t fall short of his expectations, as this first abomination had.

* * *

Whenever Ned unlocked the Chicanery and heads inside, Griffin has to physically stop himself from just saying “fuck it” and slipping in to look around. Just. God damn is he fuckin curious as to what’s in there. 

It was during one such incident that a certain flannel wearing man happened to visit the Cryptonomica. 

The poor fucker.

One minute he’s thinking of checking up on Victoria’s successor, the next, the cashier was staring at him like he was planning on how to break his ankles, and Ned nowhere in sight.

Griffin pointed at Barclay, and with all the indignation he could muster, whispered, "**You**!"

Barclay spluttered. "_ Carboy?! _"

"Get over here, you car stealing fuck!" Griffin shouted.

Barclay shut his traitorous mouth and beelined for a shelf of "priceless artifacts" to hide behind.

"You don't get to just walk away, you've been avoiding me for long enough, which! I was fucking eleven, I wasn't in kahoots with the tree cops! There were tons of other people in that road, and yet! You stole my brother's car and got it impounded, Bigfoot!"

"Oh my God." Barclay whipped his head around to glare at Griffin, exasperated. "Shut up, it was a bad situation, I barely even remember what happened, why do you?!"

"A bad situation. A _ bad situation?! _You pointed a gun at a tiny me! I mean, I was fuckin, badass for a kid, but that don't excuse that shit! Did someone even confiscate it after we left?!"

"I threw it in a fire, for your information."

"What. Did it? Explode?"

"Yes. _Now_ will you stop shouting about the existence of cryptids for the world to hear?"

"I _suppose _I could."

"Then thanks. I actually came here for a _reason_, other than you."

"What? A bom-bom?"

Barclay swallowed a bark of laughter. "A _what? _Is that what you call abominations, Kirby?"

Griffin smirked. "Now who's 'talking about cryptids for the world to hear'?"

"Shut." Barclay scowled. "It seems infection based so far. Keep inside if you can, and try to have Ned do the same. Please?"

"Yeah yeah." Griffin rolled his eyes. "If he got ate, I wouldn't get paid. You've got nothin to worry about."

Griffin made no promises. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bls leave comments,,, y'all are amazing, tell me if u liked it, aLSO;  
we don't see it but barclay 100% asks if griffin can still go carboy.  
personal hc that clint's driver character was a four limbed being and that's why he could star trek teleport


	6. A Matter Of Relations (2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of A Matter of Relations, as the title says. This one, however, takes place _after_ the Dadgus story's ending! Griffin is discussed peripherally, but doesn't actually appear.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angus is a Good Boye who loves miss lucretia with all his heart but this is _also_ a boy who had to be inoculated because he already nearly knew everything despite having been told multiple times to stop poking at things he shouldn't.__

Angus scuttled through the moonbase, hugging the walls with his knapsack clutched tight. Angus made sure none of its contents were visible at least once every five minutes. Finally, he reached his destination, a room far off the beaten path that was larger than most, but also unused. Angus walked backwards towards the wall and blindly opened the door with his elbow. Silence greeted his entry, as he had hoped. The door thunked as Angus kicked it closed, the sound echoing slightly. Angus immediately dumped his cargo, ignoring his aching back to lean down and check the contents.

Reassured, Angus stretched his arms above his head, his spine popping, and turned towards the rest of the room.

A wholly unexpected scene was presented to him.

The shortest of the three men, elbow deep in a barrel that looked to be full of soapy water, closed his eyes in resignation. "Ah, shit. Jig's up, boys."

Taako, surrounded by a brigade of paint tubes, was dressed in spare robes, and the only reason Angus knew what the original color was is because he'd seen it before this. The brush Taako had been using to apply fabric paint began to drip a fat glob of liquid towards the door. Magnus swiped it from his open hand and relocated it to one of the (very, very few) clear places in the chaos that had invaded the room, smearing it with paint.

Taako (finally) managed to reboot.

"Ango, _ it's not what you think _!" He wailed.

Angus thought quickly.

What the three men didn't know, was that Angus was done some rule-breaking as well as of late. (That rule being #284: No fabric paints or dyes on the moon, everything is white and stains like hell. Angus thought that would have been obvious, but then again, here he was, breaking the rule.)

If the Director ever found out about this, _she_ _knew exactly where he slept_. The only reason Angus had even considered breaking the rule in the first place was because she was usually planetside, helping with the rebuilding efforts for Neverwinter. So far, he hadn’t been caught with his ill-gotten goods, but if Magnus, Merle, and Taako were involved, his chances of going undiscovered were going to plummet drastically. Angus wrote a list in his brain. First priority: Implementing a way of keeping them from snitching on Angus’ rule breaking in order to redirect Madam Lucretia’s attention from _their_ rule breaking. Second priority; Finishing the task he had come here to do, which was to dye various things yellow and purple, Carey having informed him that the former was Andrew’s favored color. Third priority; maintaining his own cover.

Of course, Angus immediately resorted to the tried-and-true way of convincing people to do things, should logic fail or unable to be utilized. Blackmail.

Angus whipped out his star-tipped wand, (The first one broke, but Miss Lup had been kind enough to replace it, since he had pulled her brother “out of his feelings slump” while she had been away.) and pointed it at one of the nearby piles of newly finished product with a Dramatic™ flourish. 

_"I won't hesitate _, sirs!"

“Angus, please don’t, dye _never_ reacts well to magic.” Merle said. “Or I’d have dyed my hair _long_ before we met you.”

“Oh.” Angus said, his stance relaxing without his permission. Angus jerked himself back to battle-readiness, annoyed with himself. “However! Everyone here is still breaking the rules! One of the rules Madam Lucretia takes _ very _seriously!”

“No dye on the moon.” Taako, Merle, and Magnus intoned as one. 

“So why are _ you sirs. _ breaking it? I know why _ I _ am at the very least. Madam Lucretia is going to kill me some time after this anyways, I might as well ask..”

“Wait, you? Angus “Lawful-Good” Burnsides is breaking one of Lucretia’s rules?” Taako says scornfully. 

Angus made a face and nudged his knapsack with a foot. It tipped, and tubes labelled carefully in his own handwriting spilled onto the floor. None of them went far, but Angus still used the side of his foot to sweep them towards the same area. Some brushes came out, too. All had designated titles and roles which made their purpose very clear. Most were along the lines of “Yellow #f7ff00”, “Purple #301728”. The colors were so garish on their own, Angus doubted that anyone ever would have wanted them in five feet of one another, let alone thought to combine them. Carey swore on her first set of thieves tools that Andrew would love it.

“I like to think I’m more neutral good, myself.” Angus said dryly, eyes turned to check the exact number of containers.

Taako’s face drained of all but the most stubborn traces of suspicion. “Thanks, D’jangus..”

Angus filled up his arms with the tubes and dumped them into his bag to organize later in private. Angus knew he'd regret not doing it later, but that was Future Angus' problem. Present Angus was more concerned with Merle's, Taako's, and Magnus' ramshackle set up. Though, looking at the organization, Magnus had done the assembling, while the other two had stood off to the side and cheered him on. 

Merle broke the awkward silence. "Yeah, okay, kid. So. Uhh. Kid," Merle brightened. "What are you trying to do, or, is it make? We could help!"

Angus went bright red. He mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?" Taako asked, holding his hand up to his ear. He froze, and then snatched a wet cloth from the table and started to scrub furiously.

Angus tried again. "_IgotthedyesbeforetheclothesanditturnedoutIcouldn'tafforditsoIgotsomethingelse_."

"Louder and slower, Angus," Magnus said gleefully.

Angus took a deep, calming breath. "I bought the dyes before I got the clothes and I ended up not being able to buy the clothes I wanted so I got something else."

"Y'know you could have just asked us for some extra moolah, right?"

Angus groaned. "I couldn't use your money for something you didn't even know I was buying!"

Magnus reached over and ruffled Angus' hair, leaving flecks of dye behind. "Show us what you had in mind, we'll buy it, and we'll show you how to do it."

"Hey!" Taako and Merle chorused. 

"What's this about 'we'?" Taako said. Angus tried to hide his flinch at the rejection.

"If anything," Taako continued, "You're going to be the one paying for everything! I'm not made of money!"

Merle smacked Taako's leg, prompting a waterfall of clinking noises.

"Current evidence points to the contrary!" Merle cackled.

Taako threw his hands up. "Look at what I have to deal with!" He complained to Angus. "Imagine having to live in the same room as him!"

Merle pouted. "Hey! I'll have you know I am the most _respectable **and** obliging_ roommate you could _ever_ ask for!"

"He used my bunk to sun his plants when he thought I would be gone and didn't warn me." Magnus told Angus.

"Ohhhh." Angus nodded quickly. "So that's why you had me help track down all those bits of plant life in your mattress!"

"It was for a good cause!" Merle interjected.

"My poor back was in service of a good cause." Magnus grumbled. Angus knew it was all in good fun, though, he could see Magnus' eyes practically dancing with glee.

"Ha!" Angus jumped when Taako spun on his heel to address him. "So, D'jangus, where is it?"

"W-where's what?"

"The design! The planning should have been started _yesterday_, since I assume there's a deadline on this?"

Angus nodded firmly. "Yes, a couple weeks."

Taako made grabby hands while Angus fumbled through taking out his sketchbook. After a second of hesitation, Angus ripped out the appropriate page and handed it over. Taako scrutinized it closely, eyes narrowed, and Angus could feel his skin break out into a cold sweat. Taako's face lit up, and Angus blew out an audible sigh of relief. "Ohhhhhh, this is gonna be _good_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd you like it? The bit about how dye reacts to magic was actually pulled from Morwen's character in the Enchanted Forest Chronicles, if it seemed familiar!  
also, angus: *needs help with something*  
THB: who's got the tab  
there's not even a decision. they all just assume that _of course_ they're gonna help their mutual Magic Boy, especially if there's rule breaking involved (specifically lucretia's rules shhh), there's no question. if you're asking whether those plants were merle's special plants that he constantly flirts with, and if one of them is from the Goldcliff Trust, I can neither confirm nor deny ',:)__


	7. a single word, can make a heart open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (it's a sign)

The frozen desert begins to move, to continue on. Travelers escape the edges, limbs sluggishly coming free from timeless imprisonment, nearby lands growing safer, and more uncertain, every day.

(_ It's a sign. _)

The weeping plain's cries grow louder, and unseen corpses pile up as the emboldened step into it, and out of sight, crossing into a place of no return.

They say that you can hear bones reforming, breaking, and reforming again. They say that the staticky sobs are accompanied by the quiet, constant ring of a bell. They say you can hear it everywhere, echoing impossibly over miles of empty, dead brown.

(_ It's a sign. _)

All throughout the land, forces of magic, nature, time, souls, and bonds are shifting, _ healing _, and the people whisper.

(_ It's a sign. _)

A woman screams soundlessly, blind, deaf, and paralyzed. Far above her, on the surface, her fury and fear and hurt trap her in a prison of her own making. Glass melts and cools, blacker than the emotions spawning it, and only traps her further.

(_ It's a sign. _)

* * *

The plain goes silent and begins to shift, overnight. The once lifeless plain begins to bloom with soft green, as long-dead seeds are finally freed to sprout. They say two men, unremarkable but for what was trapped between one’s hands, has exited, utterly and impossibly unmolested. A ball of white, shape constantly in flux, as if whatever inside had been attempting an escape with all its might. They say the man with the blue jeans looked haunted, and when he spoke, none could hear his words, but for the faint buzz of far-off static. 

(_ It’s a sign. _)

The isle of black glass cracks, groans, shakes, and _ shatters _ into as many pieces as there are possible combinations for a set of 52 cards. A distant dot far above the calamity marshalled themselves as flames ringed them like an unholy halo of destruction. The flames died, and one became two as they began to _ f a l l -_

(_ It’s a sign. _)

(_ It must be. _)

The cave of lovely things cracks, shifts, and falls apart. Gems turn to simple objects. Stone turns to cloth. Artificial opulence shudders, tears, and rips itself apart, dancing to the tune of its master. They say four people emerged from the collapsed canvas, a line of white balls following. Yin and yang. Banishment, hooded in red. A unremarkable man, as happily shepherding them as you would a mixed herd of cats and your most beloved. 

(_ It’s a sign. _)

The melting desert split open like an overripe fruit, those stuck fast scattered like flung seeds. They say the remarkable man and his companions drove a wedge into it, and forged a journey through time itself, honey thick and just as unyielding. They say that long after the group passed out of sight, they appeared back where they had started, and tried again. No one can say how many times, or how long it was. Some said a century, some said a week, some said ten seconds. What all agreed upon, was its ending, eventually.

The motley group emerged victorious once more, they said, a member _ restored _ added to their number. And as always, a remarkable man close behind, surrounded by orbs of stressed light. They say he lagged behind, that he tripped, and the newest of their score caught him. They say the man was steadied with a roughened hand against his shoulder. They say he grabbed back, and anchored himself with that contact. They swear they saw a light flow through every being there, in that moment, and only for the barest of seconds, leaving them renewed. 

They say that after that, whatever was inside the orbs were far more content to stay inside their prisons than to escape.

(_ It’s a sign. _)

They say on one unforgettable day, plants, for miles around the Felicity Wilds, writhed, fought, and screamed soundlessly. Many died, but not for the reasons you think. When nature fell still after one final, shuddering heave, everyone who had ever made it back out collapsed to the ground. 

The rest, followed of their own volition.

_ (It’s a sigņ̷̘҇͗̊.̷̟̙̮͊͢͞)̵̳̬͌͛͗͢͡ _

  
  


_ (̸̲̬̫̂̅̎̐̽͢͝Ḭ̶̘̬̟̩͖̩҇̐̉̀̾̈́̒͢t҉̨͚̤̙͇̮̎͗͂̐̎͐̐͞’҈̤͙̥̖͌̑͐͊̕͢s̵̩̮̗͎̥̾̂̏̄̅̎̇͢͡ ą̶̝̝͔̭̭̦̠͇҇͂͛͒ s҈̞͔̰̱͇̬̲͆̊́͢͝i҉̢̥̯͈̿̌̓̓̈́͗̋̉͞g҈͈͕̃̐̇̊̏̈́͜͡ņ̵̣̤̗̩͍̝͍̅̀̈̏̆̕.̴̭̳̩̥̿͗͜͡)̵̫͚͋̾͂͆͜͡ͅŤ̷̤̝͂̓̉͜͝h҉̨̥̜̰̬̦͈͑̿̋͌͡e̴̢̱̫͑̉̕y҈̨̩̯̦̥̂̎͋͐̉̒̂̿̕s̶̨̗̜͈̉͌͒͐͌͞a̵̮͓̗̮̩͒̈̿̒̚͜͝ͅỳ̸̢̝͔̀̇́͆͗̀̕I̸̡̮̖̖͚̘̬͖̓̆͛̓̓̚͞t҉̢͓͕̠̗͓͙̖҇̉̆̊͛̑̃̀’̴̨̘͍͖̜͆͋̈́͗́͒̓̉̕ş̶͇̲̯̜͉̤͉̓͋̾̅̍̚̚͡a҉̛̰͉̫͈̬̲̮͛̅̎̒͐̽͜ͅs̸̛̲͖͖̙̲̮̆͛͜ḯ̶̡̥͍̮͓́͞g҉̛̲͉͈̞͓͔̙̝͒̆͆̏̎̍͢n̸̨̞͇̘̘̠̜҇̋͐̂̾̚.̶̨͍͉̦̞͙҇̐͐̔͂̇T҈̨̗̑̀͂͡ͅh̶͚̣̞̥̫̬͕͐̓͑̆̊͒͜͡e҉̥̂̊̏̋̓͒̏͛͜͠ͅy̵̨͇͍̳҇͛͂̈́͛̆͋̂s̷̨̥̦̙̠҇̃̂̏a҉̥̳̪͎͎̬͒́̈̏̾̃̒͋͢͡y̵̢͍̤̫҇̂͐͌s̶̨̗͈҇͋͊̒͗̓̈́̚a҈̢͇̥͕̫͖̓̂͠y҈̝̟̭̲̩̉͌͗̌̌͜͡ _ ** _s̶̡̖̙̞̲̰̰҇̃̚ą̶͖̙̎̊̉̈̊͌̋̉͞ÿ̵̧̖̲̲̫̭̝̈̐͗̔͞ͅs̴̗̪̱̟̠͓̽͌̏͋̕͢ȃ̶̢̜̖͕̥̣͗̽̈̊͝ỵ̸͎͉͓̩̬̲̬̉̀͢͠-_ **

  
  
  
They say fire took Phandulin. And nothing more to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "A Story, But With No Song", by ToTillAGarden.  
Sorry this took a while. Please leave a comment. Comments are my writing motivation's gasoline, and they're consumed just as fast. If you don't like a chapter, tell me, silence may say much, but it won't actually do anything for either of us.


	8. you've opened this can of worms, now lie in it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last resort. Basically an au where fma alchemy is a branch of Sylvan magic.

They encircled the sigil, desperately checking for any flaw, any error. If they had missed one, death wouldn’t be far behind. Every member of her expedition, one after another, nodded to her. Janelle stepped into the circle, the connection latching onto her core. Aubrey's voice rang out. “Janelle, what in the fuck are you doing?!”

Janelle startled, her magic's flow into the spellwork faltering.

“Stay back!” She yelled, steadying herself against a force that dragged at her very being.

For Alexandra, Janelle thought, turning her eyes away from her companions and towards an unfamiliar sky, for Sylvain.

The ritual's requirements scraped away every scrap of her magic reserves, and then some. Janelle howled, a sound of desperation, anguish, defiance, and something snapped into place. 

Her world went silent, a stark contrast to the roiling mountain that had surrounded her when she had begun.

The sky looked the same. If the rest did, and it had all been for nothing, Janelle…. Janelle didn't know what she'd do.

Janelle let her eyes drop, and sobbed. With _ relief._

Before her stood a natural arch. Intricate designs were scrawled across its surface, and when she tried to focus on them, they blurred to become unrecognizable. The empty space between, was not there if she looked at it straight on. Her eyes scanned it over and over, taking in every detail they could, especially because it made her head ache acutely. Because that meant they had done it. Now came the easy part. Well, easy for her. Most would have probably found it nigh impossible, actually.

Cautiously, she rested a hand on the Gate. Far from cold, which was what she had expected, the masonry under Janelle’s touch was warm. No. _ Hot _, like ashes after a cold brushfire. 

A long laugh vibrated down to her bones, which seemed rather paradoxical, since Janelle herself owned none. Mist hissed languidly from the stone, swirling and curling against her skin, before congealing into a masculine form above the Gate. The laughter died with a rattle, and a hoarse voice spoke. 

“Hail and well met, little knowledge seeker.”

Janelle opened her mouth, but the guardian held up a hand. “No need to introduce yourself, I know who you are. Janelle, correct? Ghost, Minister of the Arcane to Sylvain, family member slash mother figure of Interpreter Alexandria?”

Janelle took a deep breath through her nose (she could properly analyze that last part later, given she wasn’t still bargaining for what could very well be the lives of everyone she’d ever known, or...), and began to speak, forming her words carefully. She couldn’t afford a slip now, even less so than before. 

“How can I keep the Quell at bay for long enough for Alexandria, the Planet of Sylvain, and the people of Sylvain, to be able to recover and move past it?”

“Ooooh, clever one, clever. Preventative measures. Most who come here are not so far sighted. Well,” The form twisted, now only inches away from her ear, “Most that come here on purpose, that is.” 

Janelle stepped smoothly away out of reaching distance, despite the fact it wouldn’t impede the guardian even slightly should it wish her dead. “I am willing to pay what I must.”

A slow smirk crept across the guardian’s face, and something odd happened. “As many who come here would. I wonder, what makes you special- Oh?”

Puzzlement flashed in its eyes, confusion creasing its brow, before it vanished altogether.

There were no theatrics. Between blinks, something, no, _ someone _ , simply appeared from thin air. “ _ That _ could have gone badly.” 

Janelle bristled. “I knew-”

“Your intelligence was never in question, friend. Classic high INT, low WIS. Did you manage to corroborate the circle you found with anything else?"

Janelle flushed. “Very few documents survived from that period of history, as I would presume you very well know, for good reasons. That me and my companions have made it this far is only further testament to our skill.” 

“You’re kinda wrong. And kinda right?. It’s like saying the sky is blue. Sometimes that’s true. yes, but that’s not the whole of it. Anyways, I won’t take anything huge from you, as you _ specifically _were going to make it anyways. I can give you a way to recover, an end, a cure, and a shelter, at the most."

“You are too generous,” Janelle replied, thinking hard. “I will take three of the four, instead, for the same price.” 

“Very well.” He folded into a formal bow, tailored to her station while taking into account his own, before he rose, extending a hand, more for her comfort than anything. “Three of the four, as agreed. Your price will be taken as you leave.”

Janelle shook firmly, and nodded. “As agreed.” 

(Janelle had a pretty good guess as to which of the three she’d gotten, in the aftermath of the mountain’s implosion, and after the Quell’s threat had gone.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Janelle thinks the three were a cure, an end, and a shelter, since she wasn’t present for the actual Quell fight and no one knows about Thacker and the Quell. What she actually got was a way to recover, a cure, a shelter, AND an end. (The castle, Aubrey’s recharging abilities/how she recovered people from the Quell, and the main villain organization getting fucked by Beacon.)


	9. Bullshit Hours: Electric Boogalo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madeline had a bad feeling about this.  
“Well, ah. I mean. There’s equal evidence? On all sides?”  
Madeline sighed. “Fine, fine. You’d be somethin’ of an expert, by my reckon. How often does that happen?”  
Barclay leaned against the wall of her office and replied, “More often than you’d think, actually."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got my hands on a computer! This work's not dead yet!

"Hey, Mama?"

Madeline looked up.

"You ever heard of a “Griffin McElroy”? M-C, not M-A-C-K."

Madeline hummed, her brain chewing on it as Barclay waited patiently.

She spoke, "No, I don't think so. Why? Something- or, some_ one- _ we need to worry about?" Hopefully soothing any anxiety she couldn't detect, which, since Madeline was talking to one of her closest confidantes in her old age, would be a crying shame if she said so herself, but no.

Barclay just waved her off. Cool as can be, as always. Madeline was glad somethin’ stayed constant in this damn town.

“Nah, nah. Nothin’ like that.” Barclay shook his head, then looked considering. “Well, _ maayybe _a little. Just someone from a while ago who just got back in town. You’ve met him once, but that was it. ‘Course,” Barclay shrugged. “That may very well change now. He works down by the Cryptonomica, with that “city boy”, not that Ned’s been even close to deservin’ of that title for a long while, Victoria ended up passin’ it to.”

“Ough.” Madeline ran that through the spy talk translator in the back of her brain and leaned back in her chair, spine popping as she stretched. “Hoo boy, he must have his hands full. I know we do.”

“Nah, he’s more likely to leave the abominations and what have you to us, ‘less I ask otherwise. Nice man like that. Oh, by the way, ‘pparently he goes by Kirby now. Not the slightest idea as to why, though. Should probably ask him. Just thought you’d oughta know, in case ya ran into him.”

Madeline had a… suspicion. “He Sylph?”

Barclay… hesitated? 

Madeline had a bad feeling about this. 

“Well, ah. I mean. There’s equal evidence? On all sides?”

Madeline sighed. “Fine, fine. You’d be somethin’ of an expert, by my reckon. How often does that happen?”

Barclay leaned against the wall of her office and replied, “More often than you’d think. Especially with the disguises, ya know.”

He waved a hand over his body. “Since there’re no gigantic differences from the everyday human that ya can actually pick out half the time anyway, as ya can _clearly_ see. With Moira,” He nodded towards the ghost, sitting in thoughtful silence at the hearth, well in view, “I couldn’t even tell until the SPS vanished.”

“Thanks.” Moira replied faintly without looking up from their close examination of the couch fabrics.

“You’re welcome.” They chorused, Madeline far more muffled. Due to how she now had her face pressed to the grain of her desk in exasperation. 

Barclay looked back to her. “See? Oh, come on,” As he noticed her position. “Really?”

“I got it tha’ first sixteen times, ya didn’t need to lecture me. Again.”

“I’m not, we’re having a healthy exchange of information, since it _ still _hasn’t soaked in. Sit up, your posture is terrible.”

Madeline chuckled as Barclay bullied her back into a position he (after quite a bit of needling) found acceptable. “Wow, shouldn’t I be ordering you ‘round, old as I am?”

Barclay rolled his eyes, resuming his previous stance. “_ You’re _ young compared to _ me _, actually, so no.”

“Don’t feel like it.” Madeline grouched. “I could swear you haven’t aged a month since I first saw ya.”

Barclay let out a startled bark of laughter. “Oh, Mama. That’s fuckin hysterical. You _ know _ my knees are as bad as yours, even _ with _ all that wear and tear you’ve subjected them to.”

“Hey! My body’s a temple.”

“An abandoned one to an old god, maybe.”

“Ooh. Good one…”

The door closed, and the pair continued to bicker in private, not that it made much difference to them.

Moira, now left the lone, singular remaining inhabitant inside the Lodge’s heart, felt secure enough to wonder idly, “I wonder if he’d ever be interested in a rematch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i hc moira as the SPS ghost what about it  
more seriously, thanks y'all for sticking with this for as long as y'all have. Updates are going to be infrequent, but I'm doing my best.  
Leave a comment and a kudo, and you get the professional privilege of having made me, renowned hardass, cry from joy, with the bragging rights automatically given over, you own my heart now sorry no exceptions please be gentle with it


	10. casher!griffin snips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been a while. Thought I'd post my snips that didn't really go anywhere, before starting anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the cashier griffin snips!

Stepping into Kirby's role in the Cryptomonica had almost been frighteningly easy for Griffin. Talking to Tiny Hollis had even been fun. 

Taking Joseph aside after he kept harassing Ned was neither.

"Dude, I know. I know you want to unravel this town's mysteries at their seams, but, please. Don't. Last time the government got involved, well-"

-

Duck felt more vindicated than he had in years, watching everyone in the Lodge fumbling through conversation, telling the absolute truth and nothing but the truth. And whenever they complained to Duck, he retorted, "Well, now you know how I feel whenever  _ I _ try to lie."

That shut them up quickly. Duck probably shouldn't be this calm, considering it was caused by an abomination's actions, but then again, this hadn’t ended up targeted him any more than his own obfuscation skills did. 

-

As he sipped a popped soda can, Jake Coolice shredded down the walk past him, chased by a good dozen Sylvans. According to their shouting, Jake had tried to overthrow the government, somehow. 

Griffin thought, _ how the FUCK did I manage to get here? _ And  _ eh, worth it. _

Griffin followed after at a leisurely pace. By the time he'd caught up, although Jake had done his best, the selkie had been caught. 

-

"The guy with a nice suit and a nicer ass, huh?"

Barclay coughs into his fist, cheeks redder than a barn.

" _ I knew it _ ."

Barclay chokes on his own spit, and Griffin whacks his back in apology.

-

Griffin is roused to darkness. 

His mind wakes, albeit reluctantly . He feels himself floating, he sees the backs of his eyelids, and then he hears the clamor of an entire world. 

His brain works slowly, until it reaches a conclusion that makes sense.

Oh. Griffin thinks, immobile, immaterial, and spherical. I'm where the Quell dwells. This is going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> having come into a new, better mental headspace, I might get back into writing.
> 
> lemme know if you guys are enjoying seeing the snips. Oh, you aren't? Too bad, I'm posting more anyways.


	11. stolen century snips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little things that take place in the stolen century. one of them was what started it all, and went through like... three rewrites. guess which!

Magnus could feel his skin buzzing. Eyes closed, a straw was pushed into his trusting hands.

Unfortunately, the fated reunion Magnus hoped for oh so desperately, was not to be. 

Magnus heard the slap before he felt it, head jerking to the side and eyes forced wide in false shock. He fell out of the chair and to his knees dramatically.

"SIKE! WE DON'T HAVE FIZZY POP!" Taako shrieked.

Magnus cried out in despair. The room had no pity for him. 

Davenport opened the doorway, cheeks full of sugary liquid, assessed the situation, and closed the door. Davenport would have to talk to Lucretia instead, he supposed. Magnus was busy.

-

This cycle has been irritating as shit, Davenport decides. Normally, he could deal. He was notorious for putting up with his crew’s bullshit, even. But this shit? This shit went too fucking far for what was supposed to be a vacation. See the sights, do some recreational driving, all that.

But no. Barely three months in, and he'd been challenged to a street race, mocked for his height incessantly by the locals, forced to build his own vehicle from scratch, and what does this cycle decide to do? The infuriating cherry on top of an already strained situation? Now, the fucking bond core for his vehicle had gone missing, one of the few parts he'd made from complete scratch. Removed, in a crude manner that had absolutely reeked of inter-racer sabotage, even then. They found the remains what felt like weeks later. In a ditch. Dent. Battered. And, the final, killing blow, which had fittingly split it open like a crushed rib cage.

Outwardly, Davenport blankly stared down at the ruined remains, inside, he  _ seethed _ . 

If the other racers wanted to turn this showmatch (a purely professional contest, Davenport had naively assumed. He should have known better. The Light’s allure would never have allowed such a thing.) into an attempt at humiliation, Davenport could do that. Could do it easily, now that he didn’t have to avoid inciting the locals into a fiery rage.

If they had thought he would ever do anything on his own, they'd never bothered to pay mind to him in the first place. And oh, how that burned, his infamous pride which got him into scuffles both on and off the track bristling at the offense. 

Davenport smoothed the sharp prickles down into the icy depth of his personal brand of patient fury, gripped what remained of his bike bond focus (it’d taken him fucking  _ weeks _ for the parts the first time, but he would make due), and got to work.

-

The Starblaster came down hard, skipping over the waves before Davenport wrangled it back under his control. The maneuver sent things flying, and Davenport pulled hard on the wheel to correct, levelling out. 

Davenport had five seconds of sight outside the cockpit window, and it was of a rapidly approaching beach.

He yelled, “Brace!”

The thunk of sand hitting the shields was followed by the odd noise of the Starblaster’s bounce, and its violent rest deep in some kind of beach shrubbery.

A rather dashing gnome somewhere in Booty Bay hurriedly shoves his mail into his pockets and sprints as fast as his legs can carry him down to the docks, where he left the Raandyy’s Fandies. 

People are still meandering about when he skids to a stop. 

“You guys hear that?” He pants. Maandyy nods. 

“Didya see where it came from?” Maandyy nods again, and points out the trail of destruction a half mile away into the treeline.

“Well, c’mon!” Raandyy starts sprinting in the indicated direction. “Someone might need help!”

Stampeding feet follow behind him, a river of people forming in his (very short) shadow. 

By the time Raandyy’s gotten there, the folks inside have mostly been removed from the ship’s crash site (how exactly did it even get so far inland? Had they put a goddamn arcane engine on the back?) but for a woman and a gnome still inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that last one came from a thought about how warcraft could have been one of the years for the Stolen Century.  
most, if not all, of these weren't going to go anywhere.


	12. The Forked Wood snips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Griffin isn’t quite himself here. He changes to fit the world. Malleable, like low-temperature wax. Inspired by Folklore Hunter, especially the beginning. But, they make a deal. The Hunger is the wendigo of the story. The ritual summons Griffin. Styled on dark fairytales and the folk (like the title) in general. Can you believe this wasn’t the one that started all this? Wow I’m bad at writing. Wasn't really gonna go anywhere, it kinda stalled. Have a couple snips!

One day, a man and a boy went into the forest for a trip, and didn’t come out. 

A week later, after much panic, a sister followed, and suffered the same fate.

Their guardian followed, sure-footed and confident. He failed to emerge without his mission discharged.  
You four have come to retrieve what was given?

Yes?

_ A weary sigh. _

Very well, then.

There are nine rules. Four of them are for you, four of them are for **it**. The ninth for me. 

That is fair, is it not?

Let us begin. 

**It** cannot step into your shelters unless invited. Likewise, you may only step into **its** should you wish to die a most agonized death. 

The summer sun is safe for you, blackest night** its** only hunting grounds. 

Cold iron will harm **it** , force **it** to retreat but not kill **it**. However, your shelters are fickle, and will, eventually, refuse your touch. 

Three strikes to one of your party, and they fall. You may not win them back without a price. 

Nothing is quite what it seems, above all else you see while you are denizens of these woods, try to keep this in mind. 

There is a way to kill **it**.

Now, take flight, and at least try to evade your devourer, will you? The longer you survive, the better your odds, from me to you.

Merle’s vision bloomed into brightness, the sounds of a crackling fire searing itself into his brain. He sat up, and found the others doing the same. 

“Okay.” Taako sat forwards, taking things in stride. “Now that we’re in, what now?”

“Well,” Lucretia jerked her head to the side. “We should probably check out our “shelter” first, for one.”

There was a cabin that Merle could have sworn wasn’t there before when he followed Lucretia’s cue. It almost felt…welcoming. Given who had likely made it, Merle noted, he shouldn’t have been surprised it seemed so cheery. By the intakes of breath, the others had seen it too. Magnus put bits of himself into what he made, small things, but there for those who knew how to look. From the decals to the occasional knot in the wood, everything had a distinctly sauropedial theme. A diverge from the ducks, Merle thought, until he spotted little touches of Angus, here and there. Figures that Magnus would have taken some artistic liberties, because of Angus.

Barry, distraught, murmured, “Magnus and Angus were here before us, then. But if they were _ here _, where’s Lup?”

-

"Oh," Merle whimpered and with his remaining arm, shot whatever this fucking abomination against the natural order was with cold, hard iron, as (Merle realized they’d all been) _ instructed _.

The bone of** it's** hip fractured, **it's** head ripping open with a tortured scream, ** _“Р̵̵̸͚̟͖ⷬl̴̵̴̵̸̴̵̵̴̙͚͙e̴̵̸̵̸̴̴̸̴̸̵̴̵̘͕ͤa̴̴̴̴̴̴̸̵̵̴̸̸̸̢̻ͣ͜s̴̸̵̴̸̵̸̴̸̘̞͛e̵̸̵̵̵̵̵̵̴̸̴̸̴̙̙̼ͤ h̸̸̴̵̸̸̴̴̵̵̸̸̵͖͖̟ͪe̴̵̵̸̵̴̵̸̵̴̴̵̸̟̠̞ͤl̵̸̴̴̸̴̴̵̸̠͚͇р̵̸̸̸̵̸̵̵̸̸̴̵̴͍͇̻ⷬ u̴̴̵̸̸̸̸̴̴̸̸̵̸̞̪͉ͧs̵̴̴̴̴̸̸̴̴̢̘̠͛ g̵̴̵̵̴̸̵̸̸͇̺̝e̵̴̴̸̵̵̴̸̸̴̸̸̴̟͎͔ͤᴛ̴̵̸̵̵̴̸̵̸̸̸̸̴̢͖̝ⷮ a̸̸̵̴̴̸̵̴̸̸̴̵̴͍͕ͣw̴̸̵̵̵̴̸̸̴̡̻͙a̵̵̴̴̸̴̴̵̵̴̵̴̸̡̪͔ͣy̸̸̴̵̸̸̵̸̸͚̦͎ i̵̴̴̴̴̴̵̵̴̵̴̴̸̡͖̻ͥᴛ̸̴̵̴̸̸̸̵̵̴̴̸̸̝̠ⷮ'̴̸̸̴̸̸̵̴̸͔̘́s̴̸̸̵̴̸̵̸̵͖͍͛ c̸̵̵̸̸̸̸̵̸̵̸̵̴̞̞ͨ͜o̵̵̴̴̵̵̴̸̸̵̸̴̴̡͕̻ͦm̵̸̴̵̸̵̸̸̴̵̵̸̴̻̪ͫi̸̵̸̵̵̸̸̸̴̵̵̴̴̢̠͇ͥn̸̸̸̵̴̴̸̸̵͍̺̼g̴̵̸̵̴̸̸̴̸̪͚͜ I̴̸̸̵̴̴̸̸̵̴̵̵̸̡̺ͥ͜'̸̵̵̸̸̸̴̴̸̡̻̺́m̴̵̵̴̵̴̴̵̴̸̸̸̵͕̝̟ͫ n̸̵̸̸̸̵̵̵̴̡͕̟o̴̸̵̴̵̸̵̸̸̸̸̵̸̘͎̺ͦᴛ̸̴̴̵̵̴̴̵̵̴̸̵̵̞̙̻ⷮ W̸̴̵̸̸̸̴̴̸̦͓͉o̸̸̴̸̵̸̴̵̸̵̵̴̵̡̺͇ͦR̸̵̴̸̸̴̸̸̴̸̴̵̵͎̼͕ͬᴛ̸̸̸̴̴̵̵̴̸̸̴̵̸̝̪ⷮн̵̴̸̴̴̸̴̴̴̸̸̵̴͉̘͖ⷩ i̸̵̵̴̸̸̵̵̸̴̸̵̵̫͖ͥᴛ̸̸̸̵̴̸̸̸̸̴̴̴̴͖̪̟ⷮ ᴋ̴̸̴̴̸̸̸̵̵̴̸̵̴̠͔ⷦ͜I̸̴̸̵̴̵̵̸̴̴̴̴̸̺̼ͥ͜L̵̵̸̵̴̴̴̴̵͇͉̠L̵̴̴̸̴̵̵̸̴̡͖i̵̴̵̵̵̸̵̸̴̴̵̸̴̟͉̙ͥn̸̵̵̴̸̵̴̴̸̙͚G̴̴̵̴̴̴̵̵̴͇͕̟ y̸̸̴̸̸̴̸̴̴͍̟͖O̴̸̵̴̸̵̴̴̸̴̵̴̵͇̻͍ͦu̸̵̴̸̴̴̸̵̸̸̸̴̵͕͍̝ͧ Р̴̸̵̵̵̸̵̴̸̴̸̸̴̢̟ⷬl̴̵̵̸̴̸̵̴̵̡̡͎E̵̵̵̵̴̸̵̸̴̸̴̵̴͙͍̻ͤa̵̵̸̴̵̵̸̸̵̸̴̴̴̡̙̦ͣS̴̵̸̴̵̴̴̵̵͚̼̙͛e̵̸̵̵̴̴̸̸̵̵̸̵̴̝͚̘ͤ-̵̴̴̴̴̴̵̴̴̡͍̪̄"_ ** and rot spewed from **it's** maw like a fountain of the damned. The withered obscenery staggered into the dark, swallowed under the cover of night within seconds.

At least no one in the torrent of voices sounded familiar, as sickening as it felt for Merle to take comfort in that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was particularly proud of how I made the monster, and the descriptions of it. Leave a comment on what you think of the snips, what you MIGHT want me to continue, and ideas for what to write next, because my brain meats are a bit tuckered out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a multi-chaptered work. The one thing they all will have in common is there are The Adventure Zone characters, and Griffin going to be in every single one. Even if it's just as a cameo. He's going to adopt different names in different chapters, fair warning. I try to update Mondays/Tuesdays, but my schedule can vary. By months, even. So be prepared for that if you plan on sticking around.


End file.
